Deserved Lesson
by Reno Spiegel
Summary: Just where were the Turks when President ShinRa was murdered?


Author's Note: Short one-shot I thought up earlier while wondering: "Where the hell were the Turks when Sephiroth murdered ShinRa?" Mostly a lot of -thoughts-. Ever read my other stories? You know who holds the POV.  
  
Deserved Lesson  
  
  
  
We came into an office we all knew well. But the sight was enough to freeze even out seemingly-fearless leader, Tseng Lander.  
  
  
  
There lay our boss, President Robert ShinRa, with a familiar-looking sword jammed directly into his spine, slumped over the desk with a ball-point pen still in his hand, blue eyes wide open and mouth appearing as if ready to unleash a stream of drool as a sleeping person might.  
  
  
  
"Oh. . .shit!" the blonde-haired rookie shouted, digging her fingers into her hair as I watched the blood run out of her face.  
  
  
  
-'Lena, you can be quite amusing when you're pissed off and scared at the same time.-  
  
  
  
-So can Tseng.-  
  
  
  
As usual, my bald comrade just stood their with a lifted brow. He was more curious than concerned, even if we did all remember the name and owner of the murder weapon protruding from the president's back.  
  
  
  
Sephiroth's infamous Masamune.  
  
  
  
-You're a fucking genius.-  
  
  
  
If I could say anything to him -- or anyone -- right now, that would be one of the many choices. But my jaw is clenched tightly, my arms folded and my nails digging into my suit to keep myself rooted in place. The look of President ShinRa, dead, at his desk would give anyone a bit of nausea. It sure as hell did it to me.  
  
  
  
"What the hell happened to him?" Tseng breathed, leaning on one of the pillars in the office for support.  
  
  
  
-Hmph. . . Poor Tseng. As ignorant as a Turk in his late thirties can get.-  
  
  
  
"He's dead." Rude, my silent friend, took a single step forward and aimed his face in my direction. He wanted me to go inspect the body of the late Mister ShinRa.  
  
  
  
-Yes, Rude.-  
  
  
  
-We know he's dead, you sonofabitch.-  
  
  
  
So I strode up to the desk as if it were nothing, placing my hands on the top, leaning over, and looking the dead man in his glazed, azure eyes. They were oddly like my own.  
  
  
  
"He's dead," I echoed Rude.  
  
  
  
-Poor bastard.-  
  
  
  
I leaned back against the desk and twisted my face. I'm sure it looked like someone walking into a quaranteened area. "Guess we won't be getting our checks this week."  
  
  
  
I could see both Elena and Tseng snap at that remark, but it was the former that stormed across the room and looked down on me. "Is that all that man was to you?! The guy that signed our checks?! Well, then, let me tell you, there was a lot more to him than just that!!"  
  
  
  
-And I don't care.-  
  
  
  
"That so?" I gave a half-hearted query, digging into my pocket and retrieving a cigarette and lighter. I couldn't care less about the old man.  
  
  
  
Tseng reached out and grabbed the smoke, tossing it down and making it useless with one of his shoes. "Would you stop that?!"  
  
  
  
-Dammit.-  
  
  
  
-My last one.-  
  
  
  
I was forced by common sense to place the lighter back in my pocket and meet my boss's eyes, even colder than usual, and probably just from burning rage. This is where Tseng became amusing; scared and pissed at once. "I have to now," I intoned wryly.  
  
  
  
Tseng Lander's eyes being so hard on you that you felt them pushing down your shoulders. . . Well, that feeling was terrible.  
  
  
  
-Yes, Tseng, I knew him as Robert ShinRa, the guy with the pen and the checkbook.-  
  
  
  
-Happy now?-  
  
  
  
"Say something, Reno, for Chrissake!"  
  
  
  
I straighened up as high as possible without looking like a fool and glared him in the eyes. "You owe me a cigarette."  
  
  
  
Even with one broken arm from the brats' stunt at Sector Seven, I managed to roll across the dead man's desk when he socked me in the face. That, of course, is an even worse feeling than having him glare at the top of your head; cheek throbbing and head spinning, I refused to move.  
  
  
  
"C'mon," came Elena's calm voice, most likely toward Tseng. She'd always been looking at him with eyes inappropriate for an employee.  
  
  
  
I kind of rubbed at where he'd hit me and pulled away, seeing the start of a blood-release. I grinned, to whoever could see it, and let my head hit the floor again to recover.  
  
  
  
-Tseng. . .you fucking genius. . .-  
  
  
  
-Thank you, Sir.-  
  
  
  
-=End=-  
  
  
  
Author's Note: I felt some need to write a one-shot. I forget if you saw the Turks while escaping ShinRa, but I assume their position was unknown. I can just picture this happening, eh? 


End file.
